.

.We park up in front of a magnificent three-storey mansion and Keenan helps me out of the car we walk into the house and once inside we are greeted by an elderly woman with an Italian accent. Her smile is illuminating and her cheerfulness is heartening.

“Good evening, Mr Hilton and Ms.-“

“Snowfall. Taylor Snowfall.” I instantly add up, meeting her smile with mine.

“Come. Everyone’s waiting, yes?”

Keenan’s hand wraps around mine and we walk into the dining room, where there are about seven people seated around the table to eat. Their eyes dart out to us when we walk and immediately a beautiful, middle-aged woman with golden...